“Indian public maadarchod hai”, spits out the policeman. He’s among the seven cops that are trying to keep people from getting too close to the MV Wisdom. The 9000-tonne discarded cargo vessel – headed originally to Alang shipyard in Gujarat – has now been sitting pretty at Juhu beach for four days. And over the weekend, word has spread.
You wouldn’t associate Wednesday evenings at Juhu with an excited rush of assorted Mumbaikars and fake Koreans who are actually North-East Indians. But there they were, all over the place, not deterred by wave upon wave on filth spewing from the sea. It was a scene reminiscent of the water near Mahim Durgah turning ‘sweet’. To an outsider, the sheer size of the god-awful crowd would be scary. But in this country, it’s just another spectacle.
Sure, you could bet that most of those assembled had never seen a ship up close, let alone get near enough to touch. I didn’t count how many hands slapped the massive rudder of the rusting hulk, I don’t intend to either. What did I observe with rising panic was how rough the waves were, not at all helped by the fierce showers.
By 5 pm, about a hundred people had ventured beyond what is the safe zone at Juhu during a low tide and more were coming. They looked through the turbine, looked under the water, paused to extract sundry pieces of plastic, timber and gunk from their slippers, and generally messed around in some six feet deep water in a sea roused by the monsoon. The joked and yelled, they played with beach balls, clambered upon the ropes that until Saturday, connected the ship to MV Seabulk Plover - the tug it broke loose from.
And then they spotted a rope ladder dangling some distance away from the ropes. Another few feet into the water? No problem. Within five minutes, men and boys were fighting the waves and each other to haul themselves upwards, scampering like monkeys towards the ultimate achievement, “Look ma, I’m standing on top of a toxic cargo ship!” Cameras flashed as some twenty jackasses grinned stupidly 60 feet above the water. And all this with not a single policeman around, and the BMC lifeguards rescuing whatever fools that didn’t look capable of making it back. My first enquiry told me two people had drowned.
The Juhu beach police station was empty, with its doors locked and windows shut, a solitary ceiling fan running in the patio looking out to a bust of Shivaji and an unoccupied ATV. They weren’t where you’d expect to find them when you needed them the most.
Back at ship, two cops had appeared out of nowhere ready to take charge of the situation. Following them were the BMC lifeguards and the members of the Juhu Beach Ganesh Visarjan Samiti - the unofficial lifeguards who knew the waters (and the garbage) inside out. By now, all of the beach visitors, except the hordes that couldn’t be moved from Chaupatty’s culinary delights descended upon the spot and rickshaws were ferrying them by the dozen every minute.
They’d come here to watch an exciting rescue-mission and they wouldn’t let two slightly built cops stand in their way. On they went hugging the rudder, clicking their photos and mingling with the vomit that foamed every few seconds. Right at that moment, they didn’t feel the fear of law, not even when three more uniforms joined their partners.
The public got what they’d skipped their evening meals for. There was drama – hundreds crowded round a hysterical woman as she pleaded with the policemen to find her relative. There was action - the two individuals were rescued and each of the idiots removed from the ship. And inevitably there was comedy, as cops scattered crowds only for them to reclaim their spots seconds later. Right of Chaplin that one.
Now I’ve got a few questions. What is it that makes us Indians think we’re the masters of our own fate when we can’t even cross the road without nearly being run over? What makes us want to take unnecessary risks and pay with our lives? What makes us defy authorities that set regulations and boundaries for our own good? I haven’t seen the television coverage MV Wisdom received so I’m not sure if it was touted as the city’s new amusement park. I’m all for a good time at the beach, but must it come at the cost of self-preservation?
The great Indian crowd. Uncontrollable, unashamed, voyeuristic and just plain stupid. The last thing you want when a member of your family is presumably drowned is to be subjected to, “Kya hua?” “Kaun gaya?” “Doob gaya kya?” and also distant cheers of, “Click my pic naa, naam ke saath.” The insensitivity and immaturity to grasp the gravity of the situation isn’t even the point, the griever is trapped in the company of barefaced revellers that move from one attraction to the next. We haven’t changed at all since 22-year-old Leisha Choan was stabbed in broad daylight at the Gateway of India on August 14, 2005. If anything, we’ve only become hungrier for spectator sport.
Imagine yourself as the abovementioned foul-mouthed cop in this situation. Its seven against a few hundred overeager spectators. You’re armed with a lathi and an overflowing belly. The other side is brimming with curious young people that won’t listen to you. What would you do? Let me rephrase that? What could you do? You know that one misplaced strike will start a full-scale riot. And yet you need to keep chasing after them and waving your weapon menacingly in the air every few minutes because you don’t want anyone else to come close to dying. How do you convince these blockheads that you’re shunting and swearing at them for their own safety? You’re glad when its getting dark and the tide is coming in. No one in this city is afraid of cops. But everyone’s afraid of a little rushing water. Whatever happened to the 90’s when people respected the Vardi? Or was that just for the box-office?
With no clarity on how long the ship will remain lodged before a tugboat finally shows up, I’m actually glad it came to a rest at Juhu. Imagine how much worse this could have turned out to be if it had hit Aksa beach instead. A rotting ship would only spike the number of drowning there as the monsoon warms up.
I met a retired Naval Commander just before heading home. In his career, he’s sailed ships for the Shipping Corporation of India to the ends of the earth. The old sea dog said it doesn’t take four days to move a cargo vessel. As the Coast Guard, the Port Trust and the state government scratch their heads and seem more a lot more interested in making the owners pay and move their ship rather than the other way round, I wonder how many daredevils and yahoos I’ll see dancing half- naked on deck tomorrow.
